


Rise to the Sun

by greenbucket



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Introspection, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 09:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15771180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenbucket/pseuds/greenbucket
Summary: It’s a nice thought, even if Aang doesn’t sound particularly confident in it. Zuko is fairly sure, too, that with his luck the sentient-correspondence would write itself into a diplomatic incident and bring the United Republic of Nations to its knees before it ever gets its feet under it.But if that’s the destiny of the Republic, then Zuko supposes the best he can do is face it without being delirious from lack of sleep.





	Rise to the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> 5 million percent inspired by/based on/just the fic version of [this post](https://kuchee.tumblr.com/post/177160958173/zukoaang) by kuchee/kuchi.
> 
> Title from the song of the same name by Alabama Shakes.

“Hey, Zuko, are you listening?” Aang asks from the bed.

“Yeah.”

Aang’s sprawled across the neatly folded blankets, already changed into his lungi and ready to sleep. Zuko doesn’t need to turn from where he’s sat at the desk to know it. Mostly because he’d been distantly listening as Aang narrated the entire process in some kind of attempt at tempting Zuko to bed. Also because it’s late – late even for Zuko – and Aang has never been one to stay up.

“Really? You’ve been listening to what I’ve been saying?”

“Yeah.” Zuko has an approximate ten million correspondences to reply to and sign off and think very, very carefully about wording with maximum diplomacy. The stack never seems to get smaller. His eyes hurt.

Aang asks, “So you’re actually going to stay up all night?”

Zuko scribbles out his last sentence and replies, “Yeah.”

He doesn’t realise he’s slipped up until Aang’s silence becomes pointed, enough to break through the concentration Zuko is forcing himself to hold. “Oh,” he says when it clicks. “I mean, no. I’ll come to bed in a bit.”

Aang allows that for a bit while Zuko gets no further with his current letter. There are just so many ways to insult someone, combining four nations of etiquette and several levels of class; Zuko has to examine and re-examine every word and turn of phrase before he commits it to the final copy, just in case. And half the time he still isn’t sure what the appropriate words and phrases are – his father had been pretty intent on enforcing Fire Nation customs, strangely enough, and hadn’t particularly bothered educating them on any other kind.

Aang eventually breaks the quiet with a drawn out, purposefully obnoxiously whiney, “Zuuuuuuuuko.”

“What?”

“It’s really late,” Aang tells him like Zuko doesn’t already know. And then, with the beginnings of concern, “You need to get some sleep.”

“I will,” Zuko tells him, although at this rate he’s not sure. “I just need to get through some more of these.”

Aang doesn’t reply but there is the sound of him getting up off the bed and walking across the room. When Zuko glances up he can see in the dark window’s reflection Aang watching him, and when Zuko looks down again at his work, from the corner of his eye he can see Aang reading his writing over his shoulder. Then Aang sighs and his arms wrap around Zuko’s shoulders from behind and a little to the left, compensating awkwardly for the chair’s backrest.

Zuko would never admit how soothing and grounding he finds the touch, this particular habit of Aang’s, largely for the sake of his own pride. He doesn’t want to admit, either, that this time it’s like being brought back away from where he was teetering along the brink of reality. Suddenly, his exhaustion hits him.

The realisation of it is one big unavoidable wave – his eyes don’t just hurt, they ache, and his shoulders and back are stiff from sitting in the same position for so long. He’s getting a tension headache where his ponytail is pulled back too tightly. All he wants is to let Aang take him to bed and be able to sleep.

“I’m tired,” says Zuko stupidly.

Aang shifts to stand beside Zuko’s chair, resting one hand on Zuko’s shoulder and his chin painfully on Zuko’s head. “I bet. It’ll all still be there in the morning,” he says. Zuko feels himself tense at the thought, and Aang must feel it too because he’s quick to change tact: “Oh! Um. I actually meant to say all of these letters and stuff are going to write themselves in the night but won’t do it if you’re watching?”

It’s a nice thought, even if Aang doesn’t sound particularly confident in it. Zuko is fairly sure, too, that with his luck the sentient-correspondence would write itself into a diplomatic incident and bring the United Republic of Nations to its knees before it ever gets its feet under it.

But if that’s the destiny of the Republic, then Zuko supposes the best he can do is face it without being delirious from lack of sleep. Which means: bed.

Aang cheers when Zuko gets up from his chair and leaves the desk behind, but yawns halfway through and is quick to settle in their bed again once Zuko starts an abridged version of his already very short night time routine. Zuko finds himself talking through some of the replies he needs to give aloud as he goes, bouncing ideas off an increasingly quiet Aang in the other room just to get them out of his head.

“So I suppose what I should really say is that he can shove his imaginary property line up his ass,” Zuko muses as he comes back through the doorway, “which in diplomacy-talk I could put that as– oh. Aang? Are you asleep?” No reply. “Seriously? Come on, I was talking!”

Aang is curled up on his side in the middle of the bed, on top of the covers but his eyes shut and breathing deep and steady. It definitely looks like he’s asleep. Zuko hadn’t realised he’d been boring him _that_ much, although in fairness it is pretty dry stuff and it is very late.

He moves around the room more quietly than before as he puts his things away and he’s careful to sit gently on the bed when he’s done. Aang being in the very middle, there isn’t a lot of space for Zuko to lie down. He makes do, ending up a knee to knee with Aang and with enough bed behind him that he isn’t worried about rolling off it in the night.

It is cold, though, without the blankets. Zuko surveys the possibilities for getting even one out from under Aang for himself, but Aang has somehow managed to lie across every single one of them now he’s got more body than he knows what to do with. Zuko is about to poke Aang awake when Aang’s eyes pop open.

“Surprise!” he says, sitting up, moving over to his own side of the bed and retrieving several blankets in one smooth motion that Zuko suspects involves airbending. He gestures for Zuko to roll over, which Zuko does and pretends is an annoyance, and then Aang is like a limpet along his back. “I was awake the whole time. You’re so considerate of me when I’m sleeping, Zuko. How about some of that when I’m awake?”

Zuko rolls his eyes, smiling where Aang can’t see, and pulls some blanket more securely over himself. Aang’s leg is hooked as usual over Zuko’s hip in a way that can’t be comfortable and rucks his lungi up but Aang persists with, and it’s got the blankets all caught. “You _were_ awake, you just said it yourself.”

Aang laugh huffs hot breath onto the back of Zuko’s neck. “Fine, fine. Go to sleep already.”

Zuko is still feeling wound up enough about all the work he’s got to do that he’s sure it’s going to take an age or the whole night to get to sleep, even with the exhaustion settling back over him now the room is dark and still. He thinks Aang has really gone to sleep this time, his body close but not constricting against and around Zuko’s and breathing steady as time ticks by.

Zuko still can’t quite get his eyes to close. He almost gives up on sleep as a lost cause, but just as he’s about to get out of bed to sit at the desk in the dark, or pace, or something, Aang starts to stroke through his hair. He must have been awake the entire time, Zuko realises, or else he’s taken up an unusual alternative to walking while sleeping.

It’s a bit of strange sensation, like Aang is gently pulling back Zuko’s hair ready to tie it up, but Zuko not so secretly loves when Aang ties his hair for him. His fingers feel good along Zuko’s scalp. Before he can check if Aang is actually awake or not, or if he’s reaching for a hair tie, Zuko is asleep.

-

The first time Zuko wakes up, it’s because he’s freezing.

Aang has taken all the blankets and Zuko can’t be mad, or at least justify being so, because the way Aang is snoring means he definitely is asleep this time. But that doesn’t solve the problem of Zuko being so cold he’s woken up despite exhaustion – he yanks some of the blankets out of Aang’s vice grip, pulls them over himself and tucks them beneath his shoulder and the bed.

He can feel Aang trying to pull them back with airbending, but this is old hat to Zuko by now, and the beneath-the-shoulder tuck is a tried and tested method. Aang will get used to only having his fair share of the blankets soon and stop unconsciously airbending for more. Zuko warms up slowly and falls back asleep.

-

The second time Zuko wakes up, it’s in the middle of a nightmare and a split second after he yells and semi-consciously punches Aang hard in the ribs.

“Ow,” Aang wheezes, exaggerated, but Zuko knows it must’ve actually hurt, much more than Aang will admit; he just overacts it to the point of comedy so that Zuko won’t feel bad.

Zuko sits up so they’re on level ground. He says, “Sorry,” and doesn’t look directly at Aang as he says it. “I’ve been stressed.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to wake you up,” Aang says reasonably, lying back down. “Come on, let’s try and get a bit more sleep. Not that you need it to be able to pack a punch!”

Zuko lies down and lets Aang kiss his cheek then get himself wrapped back around him.

“Sorry,” he says again. They both get these kinds nightmares every now and again, so it’s not really something to apologise for, but Zuko never knows what to say in the aftermath.

He makes himself breathe steadily to regulate his heartbeat, to push down the anger and anxiety making his chest tight. Aang copies him, leads the way when Zuko starts to get off track, and then follows again. Eventually, it’s enough to get them both back to sleep.

-

When Zuko wakes up next after that, it’s just before daybreak; his body clock running smoothly despite a disturbed night’s sleep. The first thing he sees is the vague outline of his heaps of work on the desk in the dim light. It’s still overwhelming, and he certainly isn’t going to start on any of it without breakfast, but on the other side of some sleep it’s easier to contemplate it all with a slightly more level head.

He’s still tired, and for a moment wishes he was the kind of person that could sleep in, but he feels a little more rested than before at least. Aang is still asleep, moving in the night to rest sprawled heavily across Zuko. His cheek is resting on Zuko’s shoulder and his gaping open mouth leaving a spreading drool mark on Zuko’s 100 percent silk, hand-loomed sleeping robe.

Zuko feels unbearably fond watching him snuffle and snore so he pushes Aang off onto his own pillow and gets up to start on warming water for tea. It’s quick work for a firebender; they’ve got this routine down to an art, so Zuko leaves the tea to steep without concern as he goes to freshen up for the day ahead.

Aang joins him in getting ready just as Zuko is starting to wonder if the late night has thrown of _his_ body clock off. He looks grey beneath his eyes and he rubs gritty sleep out of them as he says good morning, but other than that Zuko has seen Aang look worse. They’ve certainly had worse nights, and worse nights without this kind of morning after to give a fresh start.

While Aang finishes up, Zuko takes down two cups and fills them with the tea. He adds a little more hot water to his own to dilute it; it’s easier to steep the whole lot to Aang’s preferred strength and weaken his own, even if sometimes Zuko has to take pause and wonder how Aang can stomach tea that smells five times stronger than it should.

By the time Zuko is carrying the tea up the stairs to the roof – and hadn’t that been a non-fresh start morning, the time he’d tripped and both cups had smashed – the sky is a dozen shades of blue, the lightest already the colour of the daytime sky. It’s cold enough to bite a little and Zuko is grateful for the warmth of the drinks, and that their set up of table and chairs is made of wood rather than metal.

Zuko sits back, shuts his eyes and breathes in the early morning air. He’s never been very good at mindful stuff, but he’s trying his best. That he’s tired helps in a way – it’s easier to close his eyes, let his body run on automatic and allow his mind to take stock of everything.

When he hears Aang on the steps, he opens his eyes again and tries to look pensive, or maybe broody, instead of tired, a little dreamy, and somewhere near to what could be content. Even though he still has all that correspondence to catch up on.

Aang falls into a chair with a thump, puts his feet up on the table, and makes a genuinely contented sound after his first sip of his overly strong tea, eyes falling shut. “Today, Zuko, I am thankful for you having worked in a tea shop,” he says happily, head tipped back against the seat and his eyes still closed. “You learnt some good stuff there.”

“Glad to be of service,” Zuko replies, only a little sarcastically.

He takes the opportunity to look at Aang without being looked at in return. Zuko still isn’t sure how to feel comfortable with being _looked_ at – usually, people are looking at his scar or looking at him because he’s the Firelord. Aang just looks because he wants to look, but that doesn’t make it any easier to adjust to.

Aang looks the same as he has ever since his growth spurt. He looks the same as he did the day before, and the day before that, and last night, and as he did half an hour ago sharing the bathroom counter space with Zuko. And it’s not that Zuko doesn’t like how Aang looks all the time, but it doesn’t explain why he’s so caught up in looking – until Zuko realises that Aang is wearing his shirt.

He knows it’s his, because it has the very shoddy stitching job along the hemline where a small hole had kept getting caught and getting bigger and bigger. It had kept going until Aang and Katara, laughing at him and teasing the whole time, had overlapped giving contradicting instructions to Zuko on how to sew it up. They’d handed it to Toph once it was done, and she’d told Zuko bluntly, “Your Fireyness, I could’ve done a better job, and in case you forgot I’m _blind_.”

And now Aang is wearing it. The feeling doesn’t feel like it comes from some forgotten recess of hatred for the Avatar, of desire to see him beaten with the proof that he’s under Zuko’s control now to boot – Zuko would be horrified if it was, and it doesn’t feel like it.

But Zuko likes it.

Aang wearing his shirt; not because of necessity, not even because Zuko asked it of him for some reason, but because he wants to. Because Aang is choosing – independently, of his own free will – for their lives to be that combined, to be Zuko’s and Zuko’s to be his in return. Maybe because they’re already there, to the point where Aang doesn’t think anything of wearing Zuko’s clothes.

And maybe Zuko’s reading too much into it, but he likes it all the same.

“What?” Aang asks. At some point he’s opened his eyes, and presumably has been watching Zuko watch him.

Zuko flushes and asks – redundantly, since he knows the answer – in return, “Is that my shirt?”

Aang looks down at it. Nods. “Yep.”

“Huh.”

They’re far out enough from Republic City proper, which is only just becoming anything that could resemble a city, that its sounds are almost nothing during the day and certainly nothing this early in the morning. Instead, their tea mornings are soundtracked by the noise of birds, close and loud in the nearby trees. And it’s sunset when, from the rooftop, they can hope to be greeted with the backlit view of Republic City’s burgeoning skyline; in the mornings, they look east, and watch the sun rise from behind the mountains.

Slowly, the light moves from blue to light grey to clear, bright sunlight. The rooftop begins to warm just a little.

“We could skip practice today?” Aang suggests hopefully after a while, and then at the look Zuko gives him, “Okay, never mind.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Zuko offers as a compromise. Being the Avatar is a lot of work, and if Aang needs a break he should be able to let Zuko know that and be listened to. “When is Katara due back? We could take the day off then.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” says Aang, seemingly genuine. He smiles and nudges Zuko’s foot with his own under the table. “I mean, maybe when Katara gets back. But I like sitting here and watching the sun rise with you.”

That makes Zuko’s heart feel too big for his chest, so he says, “You like that I make tea for you, is what it is.”

Aang shrugs. “That, too,” he says, still smiling, as the sun makes its steady way over the horizon.


End file.
